


Chopsticks

by thisgirlsays22



Category: The Witcher (TV), Wiedźmin | The Witcher - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, American!Geralt, Comedy, DILF!Geralt, Friends to Lovers, Humor, Jaskier's Ridiculous and Fabulous Wardrobe, M/M, Music teacher!Jaskier, Pining, Plotting Yen and Ciri, Romance, Smut, piano lessons
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-29
Updated: 2020-03-03
Packaged: 2021-02-27 18:20:26
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 12,175
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22467754
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thisgirlsays22/pseuds/thisgirlsays22
Summary: “Yennefer sent me a check for eight lessons for you,” Jaskier said the following weekend, wearing a beige button-down with--“Does your shirt have owls on it?” Geralt asked, caught somewhere between amusement and horror.Jaskier looked down and tugged on the front of his shirt as if he had to remind himself what was on it. He beamed at Geralt. “Yeah! Do you like it?”“Not particularly.”The smile swiftly disappeared.“It’s not terrible,” he amended, stepping back to let Jaskier inside the apartment. Then Jaskier’s initial words sank in. “Wait. Yen did what?”Hanging up on Yennefer was always a mistake.
Relationships: Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Jaskier | Dandelion
Comments: 601
Kudos: 4528
Collections: Medium Length Works to Read, The Witcher Alternate Universes, wiedźmin





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I'm so hyped to share this story! This fandom has been an utter joy to write for. Thank you to folks who have read my other work and are giving this one a go, and welcome to you new, fab readers!

If Geralt was late, Yen was going to murder him. She’d texted him a string of increasingly angry questions and orders--all variations of _when are you leaving? Have you left yet? You better fucking be walking out the door this second_ \--and he was only just now leaving with twenty minutes to spare. In the end, she sent him instructions to get to the school’s music room where they’d be meeting with the first of Ciri’s teachers. 

_You sent her to school ten minutes away from you just to make my life hard,_ Geralt texted back. Yennefer replied with a laughing emoji and a thumbs up. 

The bus was late, and as he waited in the rain with only the hood of his sweatshirt for protection, he cursed himself for not just sucking it up and getting a cab. He hated England sometimes. It felt like the country just liked to take a piss on him whenever it could, like it knew he didn’t belong there. 

By the time he arrived at the school and made his way inside the building--which he always thought looked like something out of those _Harry Potter_ books Yen and Ciri liked so much--Yennefer was already sitting, arms crossed, in front of the teacher’s desk. Said teacher was leaning against the desk, chatting away as Yennefer looked on in bemused silence. When she spotted Geralt her gaze narrowed and she made a slicing motion against her throat. 

The music teacher, who looked somewhat alarmed by Yennefer’s threatening gesture, followed her gaze to the door and his face broke into a wide grin. “Ah! You must be Geralt!” 

The first thing Geralt noticed about him was his light-blue turtleneck and the second thing he noticed was how blue his eyes were, and the combination of these two things annoyed Geralt instantly. 

Geralt nodded as he stepped inside the classroom. 

“Jaskier Pankratz,” the teacher said, holding out his hand. Geralt gave it a firm shake and took the empty seat next to Yen. 

“So nice of you to join us, darling. If only someone had reminded you how long the journey from South London takes.” 

“It’s no trouble, really,” Jaskier assured them before Geralt could retort. “We were only just getting started. I was telling Yennefer what an utter delight Ciri is. Truly, you two have such a gifted daughter.” 

Jaskier was too god damn friendly and cheerful. As he chattered on about the curriculum and Ciri’s performance, Geralt and Yen exchanged pointed looks and eye rolls no less than twelve times when Jaskier wasn’t looking (maybe a couple of times when he was). They may have divorced years ago, but they could still read each other’s minds with one look: Jaskier was irritating the shit out of both of them. 

But he seemed to genuinely adore Ciri, and so did they, so Geralt forgave him just a little bit for his loud turtleneck and his sincere eyes and how much he fucking _talked_.

Two weeks later, Yennefer called and without any preamble said, “I hired Jaskier to give Ciri piano lessons on the weekends.” 

Geralt put his mug of coffee down on his desk with a loud thump. “You did what?” 

“He offers private lessons--Ciri told me. She’s rather fond of him, you know.”

Jaskier was Ciri’s favorite teacher, and most of her stories seemed to center around his classroom. She’d bragged on more than one occasion that she and Dara were his favorites, and Geralt had to tell her she was too small to have such a big head.

“Ciri quit piano two years ago.” 

“She said she wanted to start playing again, and I never wanted her to quit in the first place.” 

“You know we alternate weekends,” Geralt reminded her. 

“He’s fine to come to you. Said he lives south anyway. So very lucky for you to have such an accommodating neighbor!” 

Geralt groaned and said, “Couldn’t have asked me about this first? He’s fucking annoying.” 

“Oh, Geralt. Suck it up and get over yourself.” 

“You thought he was annoying too!”

“He’s sweet, and actually quite talented.” 

Like most conversations they had, Geralt couldn’t tell how much Yen meant this and how much of it she was only saying to get a rise out of him. He wouldn’t put it past her to have convinced Jaskier to tutor Ciri on the weekends just to annoy Geralt. 

“What’s he doing as a music teacher then?” Geralt retorted. 

“It’s a prestigious school. Stop being an arse.” 

“Fine. When do the lessons start?” 

“He’ll come round yours next weekend when you’ve got Ciri.”

Geralt pinched the bridge of his nose. “Great.” 

“Right, I’ve got to pop off now. I’ll see you and Ciri for dinner on Thursday. Lots of love!” 

Not for the first time, he wondered how Yennefer remained both his best friend and worst enemy. 

“Mr. Pankratz is awesome,” Ciri said, bending forward to put her plate in the dishwasher. The light spilling in through the kitchen window haloed around her head, bleaching her blonde hair white. “The other day he finished class by having us play this game where we went around while he was playing his lute--” 

“He has a _lute_?” Geralt, who was still finishing up the last of his lunch, put his fork down and gave Ciri an incredulous look. “Why can’t he just play the guitar like everybody else?” 

Ciri rolled her eyes like Geralt was the embarrassing one. “Anyway,” she said pointedly, “we each had to improvise a line, and Dara kept adding chipmunks to all of his lines. It was so random.” 

“So random,” Geralt echoed dryly. 

The ring of the buzzer interrupted them--not that Geralt was complaining--and Ciri rushed to the intercom. “Hiya! Come on up. We’re on floor 3.” 

This time, Jaskier was wearing a salmon-colored button-down. Geralt was just as annoyed by it as the baby-blue turtleneck. He took Jaskier’s black peacoat and hung it up, listening as Ciri listed off some of the songs she wanted to learn. 

Geralt had set up the electric keyboard--which had been gathering dust at the back of a closet for years--in the living room and dragged over a black ottoman that he figured could double as a makeshift piano bench. If Jaskier thought it was odd, he didn’t say anything. Figured he’d be too polite to give Geralt shit for the half-assed setup. 

“It’s nice to see you again,” Jaskier said. 

Geralt didn’t know what to say to that besides ‘why?’, which would have been too rude even by his standards. 

“Thanks.” And then because that sounded even ruder somehow, he added, “For coming. Ciri’s been looking forward to this.”

“I’m glad. She has a particularly good ear for music, and I’ve been encouraging her to play again. I was surprised--good surprised,” he added hurriedly, “when Yennefer called.” 

“Yes, Yennefer is full of...surprises.” 

Jaskier laughed but then stopped himself abruptly, as though he weren’t sure he was allowed to find Geralt’s tone amusing. 

“Can I get you a cup of tea, Mr. Pankratz?” Ciri offered with such sweetness that Geralt was sure that she was a changeling. 

“Yes, please. That’d be brilliant.”

“How do you take it?” 

“Milk and two sugars, thank you.” 

“Be right back!” she said brightly. Then she added, less brightly, “Oh, uh, dad do you want one too?” 

Geralt raised an eyebrow at her. “No, I’m good, thanks.” She had already left for the kitchen before he’d finished the sentence. 

“Teenagers.” He shrugged at Jaskier. Fuck. He’d become one of those dads who said shit like that. “But you’re probably used to that.” 

“Oh, they’re not so bad really.” 

“Right. That’s because they all have a crush on you.” 

Jaskier blinked at him. 

“It’s the hair. You look like a member of that band,” Geralt said. 

“What band?” 

“The direction one.” 

“One Direction?” Jaskier said slowly.

“Yeah. 

Jaskier burst out laughing. “Mate, I think that the teens have long since moved on from One Direction.” 

“I don’t fucking know.” 

“And you’re one to talk about hair.” 

“What’s wrong with my hair?” 

“Nothing. It’s just you don’t usually see men with long hair. It’s very--” Jaskier waved a hand in front of him. “Very metal of you. Or maybe a bit Legolas from _Lord of the Rings_. In any case, I’m sure all the teen girls would go wild over it.” 

“Thank god I’m not a teacher then.” 

Jaskier laughed again, his eyes crinkling at the edges. Geralt didn’t understand why Jaskier seemed so amused by him, but a small part of him was flattered. 

Ciri returned with the tea, and Geralt retreated to his office where he could hear Ciri trying to impress Jaskier by playing bits of half-remembered songs and asking Jaskier to play various pop songs for her amusement. 

More than once as he did a few pieces of the week’s leftover work, he found himself smiling at the intertwined sounds of the music and their laughter. 

“Did my dad tell you he used to play too?” Ciri asked at the end of her second lesson with such feigned innocence and sweetness that Geralt clenched his jaw. He wished he had a legitimate reason to ground her, already knowing she was up to no good. 

“Nope. Hasn’t come up,” Jaskier said, shooting a curious look at Geralt. 

“It’s been a long time, I barely remember it. Probably can’t even read music anymore.” 

“I could give you lessons after Ciri’s,” Jaskier offered. “I’ll give you a fabulous, one-in-a-lifetime buy-one-get-the-second-one-half-off deal. You Americans love a good bargain, don’t you?” 

Today Jaskier was wearing some sort of awful blue floral-print jacket with olive green sleeves. Geralt was not about to let this man teach him anything. 

“Thank you, but no,” Geralt said, and wondered if he imagined a flicker of disappointment in Jaskier’s eyes. 

He repeated this offer to Yen later that night on the phone. 

“The man is ridiculous,” Geralt said. “I know he’s her favorite teacher, but the kids must tear him a new asshole for the way he dresses.” 

“Geralt, just because you only wear black--” 

“Like you’re better because you dress in black _and_ white.” 

“As I was _saying_. Just because you only wear black doesn’t mean the rest of the world can’t exercise their own fashion choices.” 

“Who the fuck am I even talking to?” He could always count on Yennefer to be merciless. 

“I think you should let him give you lessons. You used to love to play when we first met, and Ciri said he offered them half-price, which is quite sweet. It would give you two something else to bond over.”

“I don’t need something else to bond over with him.” 

“Darling, I was referring to you and your daughter.” Her voice was infuriatingly smug. 

It wasn’t so fun when she was merciless at him and not with him. He hung up on her knowing full well he’d regret that decision later. 

“Yennefer sent me a check for eight lessons for you,” Jaskier said the next time he arrived. He was wearing a beige button-down with--

“Does your shirt have owls on it?” Geralt asked, caught somewhere between amusement and horror.

Jaskier looked down and tugged on the front of his shirt as if he had to remind himself what was on it. He beamed at Geralt. “Yeah! Do you like it?” 

“Not particularly.” 

The smile swiftly disappeared. 

“It’s not terrible,” he amended, stepping back to let Jaskier inside the apartment. Then Jaskier’s initial words sank in. “Wait. Yen did what?” 

Hanging up on Yennefer was always a mistake. 

“Erm, she paid for your lessons?” Jaskier said carefully, glancing around him as though looking for someone to help back him up. Ciri came through just then as if answering a silent alarm. 

“Mum and I thought it would be nice for you!” she said to Geralt, having clearly overheard the beginning of the conversation. 

“So you don’t want lessons?” Jaskier asked, looking between them. “And here I thought that my generous offer had been music to your ears and opened your heart to the possibility of letting your hands create sweet music once again.” 

“Yeah, Dad! You can create sweet music once again!” Ciri chimed in before Geralt could point out how ridiculous Jaskier sounded. 

He looked between the two of them and sighed. 

“Fine. Why not.” 

Geralt moped in his office through Ciri’s lesson, and then slunk back out to the living room once it was his turn. 

Jaskier and Ciri were sitting on the cushioned bay window seats, flipping through the music books Ciri had pulled out from storage earlier that morning. 

“Are you starting your lessons today?” Ciri asked. 

“Dunno.” He looked at Jaskier. 

“I blocked out the hour, so I’m happy to start today if you are.” 

“Guess that settles it.” 

The answer seemed to satisfy Ciri, and she thanked Jaskier before grabbing her soundproof headphones--which Geralt tried not to be offended by--from the coffee table and heading to her room. 

“What sort of thing do you want to learn to play?” Jaskier asked. He was still sitting by the window, backdropped by the dull-grey London sky and the red and gold leaves of the ash trees growing in front of the building. “I’m happy to base the curriculum entirely around your specific interests and passions, Geralt. Think of this as your quest to find a muse.” Jaskier arced his hand through the air to emphasize his point. 

“I didn’t even want to play in the first place,” he grumbled, but without much bite. 

Jaskier lowered his voice conspiratorially. “Do you want me to just take the money and run?” 

That wasn’t the worst idea. 

“Geralt, no. I wasn’t being serious.” Jaskier shook his head when he saw Geralt considering the offer. “Come on, this could be fun. You know I’ve felt like we could be great friends, and this is fate intervening to make it so.” 

Who said shit like that? What could have possibly given Jaskier the idea they’d make great friends? Geralt was certain that no one, not even Lambert and Eskel--maybe especially Lambert and Eskel--had ever had that thought about him. 

“Fate did not intervene for you to give me piano lessons. That was Yennefer being Yennefer. Never mistake the two again.” 

“And yet here we are.” Jaskier scanned Geralt’s face and it made him feel peculiarly, inexplicably vulnerable. 

He narrowed his eyes but took a seat on the ottoman. Much to his chagrin Jaskier sat down beside him, so close their thighs were brushing and Geralt could smell the warm, appley scent of his aftershave. 

“Since you used to play, why don’t we just start by seeing how much you remember? Can you still sight-read at all or is there anything you recall how to play?” 

Geralt sighed and nodded. “Can probably still manage some ‘Chopsticks’.” 

“That’s the spirit!” Jaskier looked far more delighted than the situation warranted, but Geralt snorted in spite of himself. 

_You should be thanking me,_ Yennefer texted him after Geralt sent her a series of angry messages. _He’s just your type._

_What? Annoying?_

_Annoyance is practically foreplay for you, Geralt <3 _

Fuck.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much to [attraversiamo19](https://archiveofourown.org/users/attraversiamo19/pseuds/attraversiamo19) and [angelzoo](https://archiveofourown.org/users/shades_0f_cool/pseuds/angelzoo) for betaing!
> 
> Kudos and comments are loved and so appreciated!
> 
> [Tumblr link here if you WANNA SPREAD THE GOOD WORD.](https://geralt-jaskier.tumblr.com/post/190536319731/chopsticks-chapter-13-by-thisgirlsays22) You can also find me hangin' on twitter


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much to everyone who is reading and commenting! You're the best!!
> 
> I cannot believe I forgot to share this on the last chapter, but [Ningyogaaru](https://ningyogaaru.tumblr.com/) had made a Pinterest board for me when we were first discussing this fic, so you will likely spot some familiar outfits [ here ](https://www.pinterest.es/mara__/jaskier-outfit-ideas/)
> 
> And Glasses_girl [made some edits of the outfits,](https://shoplook.io/collection/Chopsticks%20-%20by%20thisgirlsays22%20on%20AO3/95842) which I am still yelling over!!

“Norwich fan?” Geralt deadpanned, looking at Jaskier standing in the doorway, decked out in football attire including a bright yellow and green Norwich shirt, scarf and hat. 

“You could say that.” Jaskier grinned, unwinding the scarf from around his neck. “Born and raised there, so I have to show my support.” 

Geralt took the scarf and coat and hung them up. “You probably don’t have to show it so enthusiastically.” 

“Not a football fan? Oh, sweet lord in heaven, please tell me you don’t still call it _soccer_.” Jaskier put a horrible American twang on the word ‘soccer’. 

Geralt snorted. “No. Don’t worry, I learned real quick it wasn’t worth the shit I got, especially from Yennefer and Ciri. And yeah, I’m a fan.”

“Ugh football talk,” Ciri said as she came into the room, eyes glued to her phone. “Am I up first?” 

“Go for it,” Geralt said, gesturing for her to take a seat. 

She stuck around after her lessons were done to watch Geralt’s too. It felt a little odd being observed by his daughter as he ran through scales and looked over a music theory book that Jaskier had provided. 

At the end of his lesson, Geralt flipped through the official piano handbook Jaskier had brought and laughed at some of the song options-- “I’m not playing anything called ‘Please Pudding...Yuck!’”

“Well, if you want to get graded, you might have to.” 

All in all, Geralt hated the lesson less than he’d expected. Playing again felt good, even if it was just some scales or Jaskier reminding him how to tell a whole note from a half note or laughing and making suggestions as Geralt tried to make his way through ‘Don’t Stop Believing’ from memory. He could play that song in his sleep, once upon a time. 

Growing up, he’d been equally surprised by how much he enjoyed playing. How it quieted something in his mind. He’d told Vesemir it was a stupid idea when he'd suggested Geralt take piano lessons, and he’d had to begrudgingly admit to him years later that it had been a good idea. 

“I have a feeling,” Jaskier said, “that you’re not going to have much trouble picking things up again.” 

“Thanks,” Geralt muttered, looking away from Jaskier’s wide blue eyes. 

After both of the lessons were done, Ciri headed off to Dara’s. “Don’t wait up for me,” she called as she headed to the door. 

Geralt rolled his eyes. Fourteen better not be the year she started trying to pull any shit with him for curfew. “She’ll be home by seven,” he said to Jaskier who had put on his coat but was fiddling with one of the buttons and not making any move to leave. 

“Are you watching the game now?” Jaskier asked when he noticed Geralt looking at him. 

“Yeah.” 

“Fancy coming to the pub with me?” 

Geralt hesitated. It was nice to watch the game with someone, but he was skeptical about hanging out with Jaskier.

“Come on, it’ll be fun.”

Jaskier looked so sweetly hopeful, that Geralt found himself saying, “Sure, yeah. Why not?” 

The Red Lion was fairly quiet, which didn’t surprise Geralt since not many people would be interested in this match. They got seats with a decent view of the television, and Geralt offered to buy the first round. 

“Surprised you don’t have a group of friends your own age to watch the game with,” Geralt said, setting their beers down on the table. He sat down next to Jaskier so they were both facing the television screen above the bar. 

“How old do you think I am?” Jaskier laughed. 

“Twenty-five?” 

“Oh, Geralt. You flatter me so. I’m thirty-one.” 

“Jesus.” 

Jaskier laughed harder. “How old you are you?” 

“Forty-two.” 

“Well, there you go then. We both look great for our age.” 

Geralt didn’t know how to respond to that, which was fine as Jaskier continued talking. “I only moved to London before this school year started. I’ve got my girlfriend but, to be quite honest, fuck all friends.” 

Geralt felt the strangest mix of relief and discomfort when Jaskier mentioned his girlfriend. The two emotions swirled together into some kind of bizarre concoction that left him tired. 

“You didn’t mention a girlfriend before,” Geralt said, then immediately regretted it. There was no reason that fact would have come up. 

“Yes, well. Couldn't say anything in front of Ciri. We’re not meant to give our students a lot of personal details to work with. They make such a game of trying to find all of our social media and anything they can about life outside of school, those rascals.” Jaskier rolled his eyes, but there was no malice behind it. “You know how teenagers are.” 

Ciri had once tried to add Jaskier from a fake Instagram account--Yennefer had caught Ciri and Dara conspiring and reported the incident to Geralt. He was no narc, but he might have to warn Jaskier about that kind of subterfuge if he wasn’t already aware. 

“Don’t go telling Ciri about the Countess. Next thing you know she’ll tell Dara, another student will overhear, and it’ll be the talk of the entire school. A whole bloody thing.” 

“The Countess?” 

Jaskier nodded gravely. “Yes, that’s what I call Alice. Her family’s quite posh, and sometimes _she_ can be quite posh, so it’s just become a bit of a joke. A way of coping with the utter poshness of it all.” 

“Uh-huh.” Geralt didn't point out that Jaskier could arguably be considered posh, or something adjacent to it. 

“What about you?” Jaskier leaned back in his seat. “Don’t _you_ have a group of friends to watch the game with?” 

“Not really.” Geralt opened his hands as if to show they were empty. “There are some guys from the office I’ll grab a drink with, but I spend most of my time with Yen and Ciri or on my own.” 

Jaskier gave him a lopsided grin. “I feel so very honored you’ve graced me with your presence today.” 

“Hm.” Geralt scoffed but then found himself smiling back. 

“How did you find yourself in cheery London?” Jaskier asked. His eyes flicked to the window across near their table; the grey sky had opened up, drops of rain already slipping down the glass. 

“Moved here for Yen. Didn’t want to move back to the states after we split up since this is Ciri’s home.” 

“Fair enough.” Jaskier nodded. “When did you and Yennefer get divorced, if you don’t mind me asking?” 

“It’s been over a decade. Yen and I were already thinking about getting divorced before we adopted Ciri, but we’d gotten so far in the process already.” 

Jaskier was listening intently, and so Geralt continued even though he felt odd talking about his life. The only people he spoke to about these things were Vesemir and sometimes Lambert and Eskel if they were all in the same country and completely shitfaced. 

Geralt's eyes slid to the screen as he spoke, though he wasn't really paying attention to what was happening in the game. “I know it doesn’t seem like it most of the time, but we do like each other. We agreed we’d give it another year and if we got the call, it was a sign that we were supposed to adopt a kid together. And here Ciri is.” 

“Here she is indeed,” Jaskier said. “You’ve raised quite a kid. Don’t tell her this, but she’s one of my favorite students.” 

A surge of pride went through him, and Geralt took a sip of his beer to hide his smile. “She already fucking knows.” 

They watched the game in companionable silence for a few minutes until Jaskier spoke again. 

“Do you miss America?” Jaskier asked. He kept brushing his stupid direction-band hair out of his eyes, and it was distracting. 

“Not really.” Geralt shrugged. He got the question a lot and his answer never really changed. In return, mostly to avoid talking more about himself, he asked, “You ever been?” 

Jaskier chuckled. 

“What?” Geralt said, not getting what was funny. 

“Yeah, I’ve been there many times. I’m half American. My best-kept secret.”

“You know how to keep a secret? I thought that required words not coming out of your mouth.” 

Jaskier tilted his beer towards him. “Geralt, you are quite cheeky, I never would have guessed.” 

“Never would have guessed you were half American. Seem as British as they come.” 

“I’m going to take that as a compliment.” 

“Go for it.” 

Even though it was Jaskier’s turn, Geralt got up and bought them more drinks, ignoring Jaskier’s protests. While the bartender ran the tap, Geralt glanced back at Jaskier whose eyes were glued to the game now. He looked utterly ridiculous in his Norwich attire and it surprised Geralt how much he was enjoying the afternoon.

Norwich scored almost the second Geralt returned with their beers; Jaskier jumped out of his seat and let out a whoop, not minding that no one else in the pub had reacted with more than a nod of approval. 

“There’s the American in you,” Geralt said, amused. “I see it now.” 

“Oh yeah, comes out when the footie’s on.” 

Jaskier settled back into his seat, and when the game went to half-time he turned his attention back to Geralt. “I’ve been meaning to ask, but what do you do? I know Yennefer’s a scary lawyer. I mean, I could tell the moment I met her she was involved in something that would make use of how scary she is, but I know nothing about you.” 

“I’m an accountant.” 

“Ha ha, good one.” 

Geralt raised an eyebrow. “It’s not a joke.” 

“Shit. Sorry. You just don’t look very accountant-y.” Jaskier gestured towards Geralt’s head. “Your hair’s longer than I imagine accountants’ hair to be. Not that I’ve given that too much thought but--” 

“I grew it out in college and then just liked it that way.” Geralt shrugged. “No one gives too much of a shit in my office.” 

“Right, well. All the power to you.” Jaskier lifted his glass in salute. 

“Can I ask you something else?” 

“Sure.” 

“Is Yennefer’s eyeshadow always so…” He waved his hand vaguely in front of him and widened his eyes in fear. 

“Yes.” 

“Absolutely terrifying,” he muttered, and Geralt laughed down into his drink. 

Yennefer was planning to whisk Ciri away to Paris for Christmas and New Year's. Geralt had been invited, of course, but he had never given much of a shit about the holidays, and he thought Paris was overrated. The idea of taking some time to himself didn’t sound too bad either. Let the girls enjoy a holiday of pampering and shopping that he would have soured with his disinterest. 

At the pub, after the last piano lessons of the year, Geralt casually relayed this information to Jaskier. 

“You’re spending the holidays alone too?” Jaskier said, incredulous. 

“ _You’re_ spending them alone?” Geralt returned, equally surprised. “What about your family? Or your girlfriend’s family?” 

“My family doesn’t tend to make much of a hullaballoo about Christmas. My parents decided to go to the Grand Canyon this year, and I didn’t fancy being their third wheel. As for Alice, we’re not quite there on the family holiday front, if you will.” 

“Fair enough,” Geralt said. 

Jaskier cleared his throat. “You know, if you’re interested in plans on Christmas which involve sipping the sweetest of nectars and tasting finely crafted morsels made by gentle, skilled hands, I have just the plans for you.” 

“Meaning?” 

“Meaning I was planning on an evening of fine wine and a roast of some sort, so you’d be doing me a favor if you joined.” Jaskier leaned forward, his forearms resting on the table between them. “I’m actually something of a wine aficionado, and I couldn’t help but notice the wine collection you’ve got at home, so I thought a night of fine wine might be of interest to you.” 

“You asking me to spend Christmas with you?” 

“Yes?” Jaskier sat up a little straighter. 

“Hm. Won’t spend Christmas with your girlfriend’s family but you’ll spend it with me?” 

“Only if you bring that Erveluce I spotted among your wares.” 

“My wares.” Geralt smirked in spite of himself. “Yeah, alright.” 

Jaskier lived in a block of former council flats, the door to his place opening directly onto the quiet, residential street. A gigantic Lild was situated across from the block of flats, the vast parking lot empty. Geralt climbed out of the cab and rubbed his icy hands together, having forgotten his gloves at home, before knocking on Jaskier’s door. 

“Hey,” Jaskier said, answering the door with a grin. There was a tea towel thrown over one shoulder and a streak of something that Geralt guessed (and hoped) was gravy along his cheek. The smell of roasted meat and vegetables hit Geralt as he stepped inside and he was immediately ravenous. 

“Hey.” Geralt held up two bottles of his nicest red, including the Erveluce.

“Glad you’re a man true to his word,” Jaskier said. “The food’s nearly ready. I’m just waiting for the potatoes to finish roasting and for the gravy to thicken.” 

“It thickening on your face?” 

“What?” Jaskier reached up to touch his cheek, felt the streak of sauce, and laughed. “Oh.”

Geralt felt the odd, unwelcome temptation to reach over and wipe it off himself. He realized he was still staring at Jaskier. 

“The hell are you wearing this time?” he said, eyes flicking down to Jaskier’s bright red sweater. It featured a reindeer in the center with a fluffy red ball for its nose. 

“Uh, ugly sweater, Geralt,” Jaskier said in the same tone of voice Ciri would say something scathing like, “I haven’t spoken to Isabel since, like, third grade, Dad. Jeez.” Or “Dad, stop calling them Kardouchians it was barely funny the first time.” Jaskier had clearly been working with teenagers for too long. 

“Speaking of which--” Jaskier held up a finger and disappeared into another room. When he returned he was holding a large white sweater with a fuzzy polar bear on the front. “For you.” 

Geralt looked from it to Jaskier and said flatly, “No.”

“Yes.” 

“No.” 

“Yes, or you don’t get to eat.” 

Scowling, Geralt did as he was told and forgave Jaskier once he was eating a heaping plateful of juicy turkey, roasted potatoes that melted in his mouth and pigs in blankets that Jaskier had wrapped himself that morning. The stupid fucking sweater was worth it. The wine didn’t hurt, either. 

After they made it through both of the bottles Geralt had brought and a mug each of mulled wine, he found himself telling Jaskier about growing up in the boy’s home. How Vesemir, one of the program’s counselors, had been like a father to him and two of the other boys he’d grown up with--Lambert and Eskel. How he still considered them family. 

It wasn’t particularly privileged information, but between the odd feeling of opening up and the way the alcohol was hitting his head, Geralt found himself itching for a smoke. 

Geralt pulled on his jacket and went outside for a cigarette. It was a rare indulgence, and without the girls around to give him shit, he could really enjoy it. Jaskier joined him and they stood in front of the building, surrounded by the soft glow of lights from the other flats and the twinkling Christmas lights on balconies across the street. 

Geralt offered out the half-empty pack. “You want one?” 

“Oh, no. I’ve got to protect the merchandise.” Jaskier gestured to his throat and Geralt nodded. 

“Shoulda guessed.” He took a drag on the cigarette, the end burning bright orange as he inhaled. 

“I’m glad you’re here,” Jaskier said offhandedly. 

Geralt stared at him for a long while. Stray smoke blew off the cigarette and into the heavy air between them. “Me too,” Geralt said eventually. He put out the butt of his cigarette under his heel and said, “We should head back in.” 

Jaskier turned the door handle and muttered, “Shit.” He patted his pockets and muttered _shit_ again. 

“Are we locked out?” Geralt asked, already suspecting the answer was a resounding _yes._

“Erm…” 

“Fuck.” 

Jaskier turned to give him a baleful look. “Don’t panic. Maybe we can break in? Can you pick a lock?” 

“I can,” Geralt replied easily (thanks, Lambert), and Jaskier raised his eyebrows. “But with what exactly?” 

“Maybe a...a tree branch?” 

“A tree branch.” 

“A very thin one. A twig! Or maybe you have a paperclip on you? You seem like a man who comes prepared. Come on now, Geralt. What man doesn’t walk around without lockpicking equipment for situations such as these?” 

Geralt shook his head, only mildly amused by Jaskier's nonsense. He scanned the windows above them and noticed that one was slightly ajar. “There,” he said. “If I lifted you up, think you could get into your bathroom window?” 

Jaskier rested his hands on his hips and stared up at the window. “Mate, it is definitely worth a try. Otherwise, a locksmith will cost me a bloody fortune today if I could even get one out here.” 

“Okay, come here,” Geralt said, crouching down and reaching out his cupped, cold-numbed hands. Jaskier tentatively stepped onto them. “It’s fine. You’re not going to hurt me,” Geralt told him. 

Jaskier looked skeptical but boosted himself up onto Geralt’s hands. Geralt pointedly averted his eyes from Jaskier’s ass. 

“This might be tricky,” Jaskier said from above him. He squeezed his fingers into the glass, grunting a bit at the tight fit, and pried it open the rest of the way, letting out a proud, “Yes!”

The window swung out towards them, and Jaskier maneuvered himself around it and gripped onto the ledge.

“Right,” he said. “Nearly there. Geralt, I need a bit more leverage.” 

Geralt hoisted him up higher, Jaskier’s foot digging into the heel of his hand, and Jaskier clambered into the window and made a muffled _oomph_ as he landed on the floor below. A few short moments later, Jaskier opened the front door and let Geralt back in with a triumphant smile. 

“You’re a moron,” Geralt said. 

“Be nice or you can’t have any Christmas pudding.” 

Geralt sighed and stepped inside. “My hands are dead. Can you make us more of that mulled wine?” 

The next morning he woke up on Jaskier’s couch with a killer hangover and his contact lenses dry and sticking to his eyelids. But he smelled bacon frying in the kitchen, and he heard Jaskier quietly singing along to Christmas music, and he found he didn’t regret a thing.

After a long period of cajoling, Geralt ended up going to a New Year’s party with Jaskier and his girlfriend. She was nice, really nice. Pretty too. “Jaskier talks about how cool you are all the time,” she said upon meeting Geralt, prompting Jaskier to interject with a quick, “Well enough of that! Don’t want Geralt getting a big head, do we? Let’s all grab a drink right now. This very second.” 

The house party was hosted by Alice’s friends, so it was mostly Geralt and Jaskier standing off to the side of the living room arguing about football and music until Jaskier took a couple of shots and decided they should mingle. 

The drunker Jaskier got, the more prone he was to telling strangers that Geralt was his very best piano student and friend. 

“You should hear his rendition of ‘Chopsticks’,” Jaskier said to an audience that was either extremely polite or genuinely found him amusing. With Jaskier, he was finding, it could go either way. 

“You are an adult man. Only kids Ciri’s age should use the term best friend unironically,” Geralt tried to say sternly, but he got distracted by the autumn-leaf print on Jaskier’s shirt. “And it’s _winter_ for Christ’s sake. Why the fuck are you wearing that?” There was a chance he was also very drunk because when Jaskier laughed and slapped his back, Geralt laughed too. 

Around eleven-thirty, they were stood off to the side of the living room on their own again, Geralt giving Jaskier shit for playing the lute, when Jaskier looked around the room. “Bloody hell, mate. It’s almost midnight already--We need to find you someone to kiss tonight. Your type is scary black-haired women, but what about, uh...busty blondes?” he said, gesturing slightly to a woman on the other side of the room. 

“Not seeing any women or men I’m particularly interested in,” Geralt said and took a nonchalant sip of his beer. Figured he might as well put that out there to get any potential judgment or awkwardness or confusion out of the way. Confusion was the thing Geralt found most annoying to deal with. Yes, he’d been married to a woman. Yes, he still liked women. Yes, he also fucking liked men. Move on.

“Men--Oh.” Jaskier blinked at him. “You like men. And women. Women and men. Men and women.” 

“If you repeat it a few more times, it might help.” 

“Sorry. Sorry. There’s no reason I should be surprised, I suppose,” Jaskier said, still staring at Geralt, looking a little mystified. “I’m not. I mean, I am. But not because you don’t meet some absurd--” Jaskier waved his hands vaguely in front of him “--stereotype...just that it hasn’t come up before.” 

Geralt shrugged. “Don’t talk about it much. Only when it’s relevant. I don’t really like labels, but Ciri enjoys teaching me about them. She had Dara explain to me what it means to be ace. Thirteen-year-olds lecturing me on sexuality,” he said with a laugh. Then he remembered that Jaskier was their fucking teacher. Maybe he was drunker than he realized. “Shit. Was I not supposed to say anything about Dara?” 

“It’s fine, he’s very open about it,” Jaskier said, but his tone a bit off, like his mind was somewhere else. 

“Hm. One of the few good things about teenagers these days.” Geralt smiled slightly and Jaskier returned it. “Promised Ciri I’d take her to pride this year even though I fucking hate parades.” 

Jaskier opened his mouth to say something, but Alice called him over to meet one of her friends who had just arrived. He hesitated before he walked away, eyes glued to Geralt’s, but he never finished whatever the thought had been. 

At midnight, Geralt watched Jaskier kiss the Countess-- _Alice_ \--from across the room and turned away to get another drink. 

Yen and Ciri latched onto the fact that he’d spent so much time with Jaskier over the holidays. 

“Did you make love in front of a twee fireplace? Does he have a twee fireplace? I’m not being rude, Geralt, I’m just taking an interest in your life!” Yennefer said. 

“I just want you to know I’m not expecting favorable treatment,” Ciri said. “I mean, do you think I might get any? I totally don’t care, I’m just curious.” 

He stopped calling Yen for a week and threatened to ground Ciri until they both left it alone.

For the first piano lessons of January, Jaskier arrived at Geralt’s apartment wearing a lavender sweater. It looked good on him.

“Happy New Year!” he declared, “I’ve resolved to pick up my drumsticks again this year. Of course, there’s no room in my flat for drums, so I’ll have to find somewhere else to play, unfortunately.” 

“I know, you told me on New Year’s Eve at least one hundred times.” 

“Ah, right. I may have been just a wee bit tipsy.” 

“Ya think?” 

“You’re one to talk.” Jaskier grinned at him and Geralt felt something stir in his chest. 

He cleared his throat. “Ciri wants to know if you’ll stay for dinner after the match.” 

Jaskier lowered his voice. “I’ve got plans with the Countess, but if the offer stands for next time, I’ll gladly accept.” 

Geralt felt a twist of disappointment but shook it off. “Cool,” he said. 

“Can you play ‘Für Elise’ again?” Ciri asked Jaskier. She looked over at Geralt who had come into the room to begin his own lessons. “That’s the one I want to learn next.” 

“Isn’t that a little advanced?” Geralt teased. 

Ciri scoffed. “With that attitude, maybe.”

“You’ve only been playing again for a couple of months,” Geralt said, incredulous. Jaskier looked over at him and raised his eyebrows as if to say _don’t bother arguing._

“It’s coming back to me really fast.” Ciri raised an eyebrow at him. “That’s probably why you’re still playing 'Ode to Joy' _._ ” 

“She’s not wrong,” Jaskier said. “About it coming back to her quickly, I mean. You’re also doing well Geralt, but you’re only having lessons every other week, so it makes sense you’d be a bit behind Ciri.” Ciri stuck her tongue out at Geralt. 

“You know, I do wonder if picking up various instruments again is a bit like riding a bike,” Jaskier continued. “Especially if you can still read the music, that might be the biggest hurdle. Both of you are lucky that you’re still reading music quite well. If you’re both practicing weekly and of course benefiting from my tutelage on a weekly basis, I see no reason why you both wouldn’t be able to pick up more complex songs at a similar pace.” 

Jaskier continued musing about the challenges of reading music until Ciri coughed into her hand and gave him a pointed look. 

“Right,” he said, and then it was like a completely different person overcame him as he positioned his hands above the piano. A quiet, serious person who wore an intense look of concentration suddenly took Jaskier’s place. His fingers were long and elegant as they danced over the keys. 

When the song shifted pace in the middle, becoming lighter, Jaskier bit his lower lip and then for some reason Geralt couldn’t seem to look away from his face. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much to [ConstantCacoethes](https://archiveofourown.org/users/ConstantCacoethes/works) and [Angelzoo](https://archiveofourown.org/users/shades_0f_cool/pseuds/angelzoo) for betaing! (Also an extra shoutout to Angelzoo for convincing me to reference Erveluce ;) ) 
> 
> Kudos and comments are loved and so appreciated!
> 
> [Tumblr link here if you WANNA SPREAD THE GOOD WORD.](https://geralt-jaskier.tumblr.com/post/190688454001/chopsticks-chapter-2-thisgirlsays22) You can also find me hangin' on twitter


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you again to Zam and Julie for betaing <3 You two are amazing! And another big thank you to everyone reading and commenting. You have made this such a joy to share!

It was mid-April when Geralt realized Jaskier had somehow become his best friend, though he would never-- _never_ \--admit this to him. Geralt stood by what he’d said on New Year’s: only teenage girls used that phrase unironically. 

He would also never tell Jaskier that while practicing piano Geralt caught himself imagining Jaskier’s praise or his advice. The way he’d tell Geralt to hit quicker on the staccato notes or that the harmony was coming in too loud. 

If his heart felt like it was on fire every time he saw Jaskier, well, Geralt was never going to mention that either. 

Geralt dragged the ottoman over to the piano while Jaskier and Ciri made tea, brooding over the recent agreement he’d made to participate in Jaskier’s fucking August _recital_. He was in his forties for fuck’s sake. He was going to tell Jaskier he’d changed his mind, that--

“LAW OF SURPRISE!” Jaskier shouted, jumping on Geralt’s back.

Geralt startled though he managed to hide it. He twisted around to look at Jaskier. “How the fuck did you--Ciri told you about that?” 

He could hear Ciri laughing from the kitchen. 

“By invoking the Law of Surprise, I get to claim something of my choice from you.” 

“No. It means I have to surprise you with a gift.” 

“Oh, right. That sounds brilliant too. When should I expect this surprise gift?”

“It wouldn’t be much of a surprise gift if I told you when to expect it.” 

“He has to do it within the year!” Ciri called. 

“There.” Geralt crossed his arms, trying and failing not to smile. “You have a timeframe. Happy?”

Jaskier grinned back at him. 

“The surprise gift is that I’m not playing at your recital.” 

Jaskier sighed. “Geralt.” 

“The surprise gift is that I’m playing ‘Chopsticks’ at your recital.” 

“Well, now you’re just being ridiculous.” Jaskier patted Geralt on the shoulder. “Come on, Ciri. Let’s see if you actually practiced this week or not.” 

One warm day in May, Geralt and Ciri wandered down to their local park and bought ice-cream at the truck by the entrance. They were walking around the perimeter of the lake with their cones when Ciri stopped walking and said carefully, “Dad, is there something you want to tell me?” 

The park was bustling, which meant they were in a lot of people’s way just standing in the middle of the path like idiots. He touched Ciri’s arm and steered her off to the side, near the edge of the lake. 

“Is there something I want to tell you?” he echoed, looking at Ciri oddly. 

She gave him a pointed look and tucked a lock of hair behind her ear. “I mean, I already figured it out, and I think it’s great. Really. I could tell you had a crush on him, like, as soon as he walked into the flat.” 

Geralt narrowed his eyes. “Had a crush on _who._ ”

“Uhhh, Jas--Mr. Pankratz?”

“I do _not_ have a crush on him.” It wasn’t a lie. To call it a crush was like calling a tiger a kitten--in the privacy of his own mind, Geralt could begrudgingly admit that fact to himself. 

“Oh.” Ciri’s eyes widened in surprise. “I kinda thought he was meeting us here later so you could tell me the news first.” 

“No. He’s just meeting us later because...because he’s meeting us later,” Geralt finished lamely. Embarrassed, he looked away towards the lake, the water glimmering in the sunlight. 

“Oops.” She didn’t actually seem concerned by her mistake, though. 

“He has a girlfriend,” Geralt added, a defensive note in his voice, and then remembered he wasn't supposed to share that piece of information. “Shit. Don’t repeat that to Dara or any of your other classmates.”

Now she did look surprised. “I’m usually so good at reading this stuff. If it wasn’t for me, Damian and Zach would have never even gotten together. And they’re _brilliant_ together.” 

Geralt didn’t have a fucking clue who Damian and Zach were, but he was too busy reeling over what Ciri had said--what Ciri had _thought_ \--that he couldn’t even pretend to be interested in the romantic lives of two fifteen-year-olds he didn’t know. 

“I’m so sad,” Ciri was saying, pulling Geralt back into the conversation. “You seemed so into each other, and you’re both bi so I was like ‘oh my god, they like each other so much.’” 

Geralt scrubbed a hand over his face. “Ciri, how do you know that?” 

“Um. That you like each other so much?” 

“No. The other thing.” 

She had the decency to look sheepish as she said, “I found his old Myspace account.” 

Christ almighty. He really had to protect that moron, didn’t he? 

When Jaskier showed up later that afternoon, Geralt tried not to let Ciri’s assumption get in his head or color his behavior, but it was fucking hard. He kept catching himself staring at Jaskier, now convinced his interest was as obvious to Jaskier as it apparently was to Geralt’s _daughter._

“Have you given any thought to what you might want to play at the recital?” Jaskier asked. They were at the Red Lion again, their Saturday afternoon ritual. It meant more to Geralt than he cared to admit. 

He drummed his fingers on the table, pretending to be deep in thought. “I already told you. ‘Chopsticks’.” 

“Come now.” Jaskier tried to look stern, but his eyes, filled with mirth, gave him away.

Geralt sighed. “Fine. Not sure yet, honestly. You have any suggestions?” 

“I can put some together for you next week, but have a think yourself.” Jaskier took a sip of his drink. “I really do appreciate you agreeing to do this. I hope you pick something you’ll be excited to memorize and perform.” 

Geralt grunted. “Are you playing in this recital? I remember my teacher played at mine.” 

It was almost as though Jaskier’s ears actually perked up. Geralt swore he sat up a little straighter in his seat. “You played in one before?” 

Shit. He should have realized Jaskier would latch onto that piece of information. 

It had been the first and last one Geralt had ever played in. He’d been about fourteen. Not much about it stood out--he hadn’t told anyone about it, not wanting the attention, and expecting Lambert to bust his ass over it. 

“Yeah, I played ‘Sweet Child O’Mine’ even though my teacher wanted me to do something classical. Fucked my notes up at one point, but kept right on playing, and everyone clapped at the end. You know, typical.” 

“I’m sure you were wonderful,” Jaskier said, eyes and smile soft. It was the same tender way Jaskier often looked at Geralt. Lately, Geralt had been wishing that Jaskier would look at him any other way because it made it difficult to stop his heart from speeding up, to stop the sharp pain when Geralt remembered they were only friends. 

“You could play it again? You’ve never played that one for me before.” 

It was true, and he didn't quite know why he hadn't. Maybe he still felt weird about the whole recital thing, about messing up his notes, about revealing the part of himself that still felt touched by that song. It was one of those things that affected him and he didn’t quite know why, like a memory that was always out of reach but you could feel pulsing under your skin. 

“I’ll think about it,” Geralt said. 

The lessons scheduled for the second weekend of June were canceled since Ciri was away with Yennefer and Geralt had thought he might visit a friend of his in Manchester for the weekend, but that had fallen through in the end.

An odd, empty feeling dogged Geralt all morning. He knew he could have just texted Jaskier to hang out, but there was something about the interrupted routine that left him disappointed. There was also a very good chance Jaskier had already made plans with Alice and their friends.

He’d just gotten back from a run when the buzzer sounded and Jaskier’s cheerful voice greeted him on the other end. 

“What are you doing here?” Geralt asked when he opened the door. 

Jaskier gave him an odd look. “Same thing we do every other weekend, Pinky. Try to practice the piano.” 

Geralt raised his eyebrows at him. “Nerdy. Even by your standards.” 

“I’m not nerdy!” 

“You play a _lute_.” 

“That’s very cool and not at all nerdy.” 

Geralt rolled his eyes. “We canceled lessons this week. Or at least I thought Yennefer had for me. She and Ciri went away for a spa weekend for Yen’s birthday, and I was planning on going away for the weekend.” 

Jaskier looked a little flustered and ducked his head. “This is the first I’m hearing of it.” 

"Sorry." 

“I’m more than happy to stay?" Jaskier offered after a moment. "We can run through your piece for the recital. Or we can just hang out.”

“Sure, why not. You’re already here.” Geralt tried not to be so happy to see Jaskier and found the task harder than he was comfortable with. “Let me just go shower real fast. I stink.”

“Yeah. I thought that was onions.” 

When Geralt returned from his shower, the ends of his hair were still wet, leaving dark patches on his navy t-shirt. Jaskier was staring at him. 

“What?” 

“You look different.” 

“Okay.” 

Jaskier kept staring and then his eyes went wide with realization. “You’re not wearing black!” he said triumphantly. 

“It’s basically black.” 

“And yet it’s not. You should branch out more, Geralt,” Jaskier advised. 

“I do not need to be lectured by you on clothes.” 

“What’s that supposed to mean?” 

“You own a fuck ton of pastel, is all I’m saying. Some might say too much.” 

Jaskier pointed an accusatory finger at him. “It’s an extremely flattering look on me.” 

Geralt found he couldn’t argue with that, so he stayed silent and sat down at the keyboard instead. 

Sunlight slanted over the keys, the music filling the sweet afternoon silence. No cars going by, no voices carrying up from the street. That dark mood from earlier had dissipated completely, and he felt only a deep sense of calm. 

Geralt came to the end of the song and turned to look at Jaskier only to find Jaskier was already looking back at him, and Geralt’s gaze landed directly on Jaskier’s lips. They looked full and soft, and Jaskier nervously ran his tongue over the bottom lip. Unable to help himself, Geralt kissed him. 

When Jaskier returned the kiss enthusiastically, winding a hand in Geralt’s hair to pull him closer, Geralt suddenly reared back and stood up. “I’m sorry,” he said. “Shouldn’t have done that.” 

Jaskier blinked at him. “Why? Because I’m Ciri’s teacher? A guy?” 

“What? No, neither of those things. I mean, the teacher thing, maybe, but not the other thing. What about Alice?” 

Jaskier blinked at him. “We broke up.”

The words made Geralt’s heart slam against his chest. “ _That’s_ the one thing you decided not to mention?” 

“Well.” Jaskier swallowed. “I was afraid you’d ask me why, and then I’d have to tell you my heart was interested in someone else.” He raised his eyebrows slightly and didn’t look away from Geralt. 

Oh. _Oh._ Fuck. 

Jaskier swung his legs over the ottoman and stood, carefully making his way towards Geralt as though giving him a chance to make a run for it. 

Stunned by this turn of events, Geralt said, “I’m not too old for you?” 

“Not even a little bit, Geralt. Jesus tapdancing Christ, have you seen yourself in a mirror? Because, sweet lord in heaven, if you haven’t, I highly recommend it. You’re in for a treat, the experience of a lifetime.” 

“I think I get the idea,” Geralt said, knowing if he didn’t stop the babbling now he might never get Jaskier into bed. 

Geralt kissed him again, sliding his hands up under Jaskier’s appallingly orange (but very soft) sweater **,** enjoying the hot skin under his fingertips. Such sweet relief to finally have Jaskier in his arms, to finally be kissing him.

Geralt pulled out all of his best moves--light nips to Jaskier’s lower lip, tongue gently sliding against Jaskier’s, his hands roaming his body--finding he desperately wanted to impress him. 

“I really want to make love to you,” Jaskier said, pulling back just enough to speak. His lips were red, and Geralt could barely concentrate on anything else. “I’ve wanted to pretty much since the moment I laid eyes on you.” 

That phrase belonged anywhere but in Geralt’s life, but when Jaskier said it and looked at him with such naked desire, Geralt felt heat pool in his belly. 

“What if I really want to fuck you?” Geralt lobbed back at him, mostly just to be difficult, but also because it was the truth. 

“Next time. I just want you to let me take care of you.” He closed the space between them, running a hand down Geralt’s arm. His voice was honey-sweet and soft when he leaned forward, lips brushing against Geralt’s ear lobe as he said, “I want to be inside you while I take you apart.” 

Letting out a sound he could only describe as a growl, Geralt kissed Jaskier again with so much enthusiasm that they both stumbled backward, Jaskier using the wall for support. Geralt badly wanted to get Jaskier naked, but he couldn’t seem to stop making out with him long enough to do so. Their lips crashed together again and again, and Jaskier’s legs came to wrap around Geralt's waist as he hoisted him up against the wall, pinning him in place. 

“You smell so fucking good,” Geralt said, nipping at Jaskier’s neck. “Drive me fucking crazy.” With Jaskier touching him everywhere, hands up under Geralt’s shirt, his skin was on fire.

“You’re one to talk,” Jaskier replied, his hands tangling in Geralt’s hair as he crushed their lips back together. 

By the time they made it to the bed, Geralt was straining hard against his jeans, aching with desire. They undressed in a rush, and Geralt could have drunk in the sight of Jaskier’s beautiful, naked body for hours and never gotten bored--though the blue balls would have been unbearable. 

If Jaskier was intent on _making love_ to him, then Geralt was going to make sure he still got the satisfaction of taking Jaskier apart piece by piece too. That Jaskier didn’t try to show off and steal the whole show like Geralt knew he wanted to. 

He pushed Jaskier back against the pillows, holding his hips down while he sucked him off. Every time he looked up and met Jaskier’s eyes, he could feel him swell in his mouth. 

“Bloody hell, Geralt. When you look up at me like that--I--” his voice broke off into a moan as Geralt slid him in deeper, head of his cock bumping the back of his throat. “Damn it. I have a _plan_ , Geralt.” 

Geralt hummed around him until Jaskier yanked at his hair and then crawled forward to kiss Geralt, to wrestle him down to the other side of the bed flat on his back. 

“I can’t believe you want me too,” Jaskier murmured. “You don’t know how badly I’ve wanted you. How much I think about you. Whenever you’re near me, I feel like I’m going out of my skin.” 

The words, Jaskier’s hands wrapping around his cock as he spoke with that soft, sweet voice, made Geralt let out involuntary sounds that soon morphed into pleas for more. He didn’t know if the pleaswere for Jaskier’s praise or for his touch; it might have been an impossible, unquenchable thirst for a combination of the two. 

It didn’t take much preparation for Geralt to be ready--he’d pleasured himself regularly enough, imagining them in bed together, that he was ready and eager. He wanted Jaskier inside of him _fucking now_ , but Jaskier insisted on teasing him, on making Geralt fuck himself on his lube-slicked fingers while Jaskier told him how sexy he was, how Jaskier never wanted to leave this bed.

When he finally, _finally_ fucked Geralt it was with slow, methodical thrusts. He bent forward to lick and pinch Geralt’s nipples, something Geralt loved but always felt odd asking for. It drew the most pornographic sounds out from Geralt, sounds he didn’t usually make. All Geralt could manage to say through his pleasure was a broken, mangled, “ _Jaskier._ Please. _”_

Past lovers had never been like Jaskier, and they’d certainly never had this effect on Geralt. It was like Jaskier was under Geralt’s skin with direct access to--and intimate knowledge of--all the nerves that sent waves of pleasure straight to Geralt’s brain.

His whole body was taut--making him think of the strings of Jaskier’s lute, which had once seemed so stupid; now the image of Jaskier playing it intertwined with thoughts of the way he was playing Geralt’s body, and suddenly it didn’t seem so stupid at all. 

Jaskier kept on with his praise. It might have annoyed him a little with someone else, but with Jaskier, it made him flush and shift his hips up in a quiet plea for more. 

“Oh, you like that,” Jaskier murmured. He lapped at one of Geralt’s nipples again and squeezed Geralt’s cock tighter in his fist. “Tell me what you want.” 

“I want you to fuck me harder,” Geralt said, eyes meeting Jaskier’s. He could feel himself swelling in Jaskier’s hands, so desperate for release, needing _more_.

“Well, since you asked so nicely, I’ll consider it.” Jaskier rolled his hips once with agonizing precision. 

Geralt growled, and Jaskier ran a hand down his chest. “Fine, fine. Don’t be like that; I suppose you’ve earned it.” 

And with that, he gripped Geralt’s hips and began to pump into him in earnest. Geralt threw his head back against the bed, unable to stop the sounds Jaskier was pulling from him until pleasure overtook him and he came into his hand. 

“God, look at you,” Jaskier said like he was in awe. Geralt opened his eyes and Jaskier’s blue ones were staring back, exposing him. 

“Did you--” 

“Yeah, watching you,” Jaskier said, blushing. He looked away as he pulled out and took his condom off. 

“Hm.” Geralt touched his cheek, making Jaskier look back up in surprise. They smiled stupidly at each other. 

Late afternoon sun spilled onto the bed between them, slanted by the partially open blinds. Geralt could feel his eyelids threatening to close, but he hoisted himself up to grab a towel to clean them both up. 

“That was...wow,” Jaskier said as he took the damp towel and wiped himself off. 

“Yeah,” Geralt said. He threw himself back down on the bed. “Come here.” 

Jaskier came to rest his head on Geralt’s chest and curled into him. They both dozed off not long after that and Geralt didn’t wake until early the next morning. The sun hadn’t even made it to the sky yet, but the birds were starting to chirp. 

During the night, they’d separated, and Jaskier was on his stomach, snoring lightly. Geralt rested his palm on the smooth, lightly-muscled surface of Jaskier’s warm back. He could get used to the sight of this greeting him in the morning. 

While Geralt was making coffee, Jaskier wandered into the kitchen. The sight of Jaskier wearing nothing but a pair of Geralt’s boxers, his hair mussed and falling into his eyes, was enough to make Geralt forget what he was doing and crowd Jaskier up against the breakfast bar so he could kiss him. 

“Wait, wait.” Jaskier pulled back, frustrating Geralt.

“What?” 

“You’re wearing glasses,” Jaskier said, staring at him. 

“Yeah?” 

“They’re quite, uh. You look rather dashing.” 

Geralt had no idea why Jaskier got all hot and bothered over his glasses, but it earned him Jaskier eager and naked on the kitchen table while Geralt pounded into him. 

Jaskier’s fingers scrambled against the wood as he sought purchase and tried to meet each and every merciless thrust. He gave as good as he got. 

Geralt slid his hands under Jaskier’s ass, angling him up and finding his prostate with deep, precise snaps of his hips. Jaskier’s hands flew over his cock and on the fifth stroke, Geralt buried to the hilt inside of him, Jaskier came with a cry, spilling over his hand and chest and Geralt’s too. Geralt rode Jaskier through his orgasm, and his wasn’t long after. The sight of Jaskier’s flushed face and the cum sliding down his spent cock sent Geralt over the beautiful edge. 

“What are you going to tell Ciri?” Jaskier asked. He was sitting at the kitchen table in his boxers, sipping tea from Geralt’s favorite mug that he didn’t let anyone else use. Geralt hadn’t stopped Jaskier when he’d grabbed it from the shelf. “We probably should have waited until the summer holidays. Fuck, but she’ll still be my student again next year. Maybe we should have waited until she graduated? What do you think?” 

“Jaskier.” Geralt dumped some scrambled eggs onto two plates. 

“Wait, that was rather presumptuous of me, wasn’t it? You don’t have to tell Ciri anything. In fact, if this was just a one-time thing, it wouldn’t make any bloody sense to tell her anything. Good god, don’t tell Yennefer anything either. She still frightens me. Did you know last time I was at her flat--” 

“ _Jaskier_!” 

Jaskier snapped his mouth shut and watched Geralt. 

“This wasn’t a one-time thing unless you want it to be. Ciri already thought we were dating, so the only reason I wouldn’t tell her is because she’ll be a smug little shit about it.” 

“Let her be a smug little shit then,” Jaskier said, looking mystified. He had a dazed, dreamy smile on his face. “I knew she was my favorite student for a reason.” 

They tucked into their food, and Jaskier made little hums of pleasure as he ate. 

“Can I ask you something?” Geralt said after he'd finished eating. 

“Always.” 

"Why the hell did you befriend me in the first place?” 

“I don’t know. It was like I couldn’t help it. I had a crush on you from the start,” Jaskier admitted. “I’m talking the moment I saw you in the doorway of my classroom with your wet sweatshirt and your miserable, gorgeous face. I mean, I had told myself it was just a man-crush because you’re--” he waved a hand at Geralt. 

“I’m what?” 

Jaskier looked affronted. “Well, I’m not going to say it. Besides, it’s not true now, it was an inaccurate first impression.” 

“You thought I was cool, didn’t you?” Geralt smirked. 

Jaskier crossed his arms and leaned back in his chair. “That’s rather arrogant, don’t you think?” 

“Hm.” 

“It’s my turn to ask something, I think.” 

“I never agreed to that.” 

“Where do we go from here?” 

“I’m too old for games,” Geralt said. “I’m not saying I’m good at relationships. If anything, I’m probably pretty shit at them, but…” 

Jaskier’s jaw went slack. “You want a relationship with me?” 

“How was that not obvious?” 

Jaskier’s only reply was to stand up and kiss Geralt fiercely. 

The recital was held in the basement of a church Jaskier had booked for the occasion. Everyone was dressed up: Yennefer in a simple black dress that made her electric-blue eye-shadow look even more dramatic. Ciri wore a light blue dress and--much to Geralt’s chagrin--eyeliner and the same blue eye-shadow as her mother. Along with Jaskier, they’d convinced Geralt to wear one of his work button-downs and khakis which he’d once sworn never to wear on the weekend. 

Jaskier was dressed in a black button-down with dark red flowers and black jeans. He looked so good Geralt wanted to leave the recital right then and there and drag Jaskier behind the church to sin.

An assortment of refreshments sat on a fold-out table off to the side of the room, and Geralt wandered over to eat as many mini donuts as he could get away with without being rude. 

“Stop broodingly eating all my donuts,” Jaskier chided, taking his break from greeting and charming the parents and grandparents in attendance to join Geralt. 

“Not brooding.” 

Jaskier tilted his head. “Nervous then?” 

“No.” Geralt ate another mini donut. “Still just feel ridiculous. I’m too old to be in a recital.” 

“I told you already; you’re not even my oldest student,” Jaskier assured him. “Margaret is seventy-four years young! And Becca’s thirty-seven. You’re in good, mature company.” 

Geralt grunted. 

He remained skeptical about the whole thing up until Ciri played “Fur Elise” and quiet pride burst in his chest from the moment she sat down at the bench until the last note was played. The whole recital thing seemed a lot less silly then. 

And when it was Geralt’s turn to perform and Jaskier was grinning at him like an utter doofus in the audience, he didn’t hate that either. In the end, he’d decided to play “Sweet Child ‘O Mine”, mostly because if he swapped the ‘she’ for ‘he’, he realized the song made him think of Jaskier. 

Once all the students had finished performing, Jaskier stood at the front of the room and praised them all for their hard work and fantastic performances. “Traditionally, recitals end with a song from the teacher. I couldn’t possibly have asked my students to work and practice so hard and not do so myself. Today, I’ll be taking advantage of your presence and your ears to play a song that I’ve been working on.” He met Geralt’s eyes, a little nervously, Geralt thought. There was something about that look that gave Geralt goosebumps, a little voice saying _is he...no._

“The working title is ‘Weak and Wanting’.” 

A familiar set of notes filled the quiet basement. Jaskier was playing fucking “ _Chopsticks_ ” except it didn’t stay that way for long _._ It melted into something smoother, more melodic, but Jaskier would effortlessly return to a variation of those original chords. 

The song was slow but would speed up in places, so you’d think you were feeling one thing and then suddenly your heart was racing with another. Minor chords, dark and rich and romantic. And Geralt thought with an odd sort of clarity: _this is for me, he’s playing this about me._

And as the song drew to a close it once again circled back to those starting chords, the ones so similar to "Chopsticks." All Geralt could do at the end was blink and applaud with everyone else, but when Jaskier found his eyes in the audience and winked at him, he managed to smile back. 

“Well done, Geralt! Bravo!” Yennefer said, coming over to Geralt after the recital had ended; it sounded like it was verging on sincere. She turned to Jaskier and instead of complimenting him on the recital she said, “Jaskier, what a scandal it would cause if people knew you were dating one of your students. The talk of favoritism alone would set the London music scene ablaze.” So Geralt supposed that meant she was fond of Jaskier. 

“It’s really Ciri they should worry about,” Jaskier said. “I’m far more fond of her than Geralt.” 

Yennefer touched Jaskier’s arm and smiled slyly. “Well, aren’t we all?”

Ciri pulled a smug face at Geralt, but then she said, “You really did do great, Dad.” 

“You too, kiddo.” 

Her smile turned sly just like Yennefer’s (Geralt often marveled at how they mirrored one another) and she said, “You did great too, Jaskier. That song was totally for my dad, wasn’t it?”

Jaskier grinned. “I can never get anything past you, clever Cirilla.” 

Ciri had been delighted to learn Geralt and Jaskier were dating and had immediately requested that over the summer break she stop referring to Jaskier as Mr. Pankratz. “I promise if you’re my teacher again I can shift back into, like, good student mode,” she'd assured them. 

“Mum and I are getting sushi for dinner later to celebrate, do you both want to come?” She glanced between Jaskier and Geralt. 

“I’d love to,” Jaskier said. “Geralt?” 

“Sounds good.” 

“Wonderful, I’ll text you the details,” Yennefer said, and she and Ciri left together.

Geralt stayed until the end with Jaskier, eating every bit of leftover food as the rest of the families thanked Jaskier and filtered out. 

When they were alone, Geralt sauntered over to Jaskier. “‘Chopsticks’?” he said, “Really?” 

Jaskier touched his chest and kissed him. “I thought at least one of us should play some variation of it.” 

“You’re out of your mind,” Geralt said, touching Jaskier’s cheek, still awed that he could do this now. 

“Come on. We’ve got some cleaning up to do. Or did you just stay behind to be a pain in my arse?” 

“Just to be a pain in your arse.” 

Together they cleared up paper plates and empty soda cans then folded up the tables and chairs. They locked up and returned the keys to a volunteer in the office upstairs. 

Outside it was a beautiful summer day, warm but not too hot. The shouts and laughter of children at the nearby playground carried over to them as they left the church.

Grateful for an excuse to wear them, Geralt slipped on his sunglasses and cleared his throat. “How long have you been working on ‘Weak and Wanting’?” 

“Ah, I’ve been waiting for you to ask about that.” Jaskier rubbed the back of his neck. “For a while now. You kept joking about playing "Chopsticks" today, and so I thought, well I’ll show him, won’t I?” 

“Where did the title come from?” 

Jaskier shrugged. “I don’t know. It’s just how I felt about you when I was writing it. It’s still just a working title, anyway.” 

“Oh." Geralt was at more of a loss for words than usual. "It was…can’t say anyone’s ever written a song for me before. I didn’t hate it,” Geralt said quietly, already knowing he’d be asking Jaskier to play it for him again and again. 

“Good. You should probably get used to it.” Jaskier smiled, his blue eyes crinkling at the edges in the way that Geralt loved so much. The humidity in the air was already making his hair curl across his forehead. “You’ve become my muse. There might be some poetry lurking about in my flat that is quite clearly about you.” 

Geralt huffed and looked away. He was once again glad to be wearing his sunglasses. “I, uh, have something for you too.” It had been burning a hole in his pocket since he'd made up his mind about it last week. 

Jaskier’s face lit up. “A gift? For me? Unhand it this instant!” 

Reaching into the pocket of his slacks, Geralt felt his face heating up from more than just the summer sun. He pulled out a keyring with a small silver key and a black fob attached. “This might be a fucking terrible gift, I don’t know. But I owed you one for the Law of Surprise and, you know, congratulations on the recital.” 

“It’s a key to your place?” 

“Yeah. That’s the one to get into the building and that’s the one to get into the flat.” Geralt had no idea why he was explaining the logistics of the keys, but he found it was helping to keep him steady. "I know it's only been a couple months, so if you don't want it, I understand." 

Jaskier took the keys from Geralt and said, “Everything with you has been a wonderful surprise, and this is no exception. You know, Geralt, I--” 

Geralt stepped forward and kissed him before he could say another romantic word.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> He'll probably never read this, but a big thank you to my cousin who was instrumental in deciding that Jaskier would use "Chopsticks" in the song he was writing. "It's your fic title!!" he very rightly pointed out. 
> 
> Anyway, this was an absolute blast to write. I really hope you enjoyed how it all came together! I didn't realize how sad I would be to say goodbye to this verse; I might have to revisit it with some one-offs in the future. 
> 
> Kudos and comments are loved and so appreciated <3
> 
> You can find me on twitter  
> [Tumblr link if you want to share <3](https://geralt-jaskier.tumblr.com/post/611596233189048320/chopsticks-chapter-3-complete-thisgirlsays22)


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